Staying
by WrittenInCrayon
Summary: Set 4x9: "The flickers of it change; sometimes Castle holds her together on the wavering grass as her life drains away, and she can't even find the strength to tell him that she loves him back. Other times the bullet hits him instead when he jumps to save her, and she can hear Alexis screaming high above the crowd when she looks down at his face, brave and giving and going."
1. Chapter 1

**Hi again. This is set during 4.09 in which Kate is suffers from post traumatic stress, because Stana deserves all of the awards and I've always wanted to write something for that episode. **

**The text in italics at the beginning is the dream Kate has when she passes out from drinking. They'll be two chapters to this fic, in this chapter there will be flashbacks from different parts of Kate's dream.**

_The flickers of it change; sometimes Castle holds her together on the wavering grass as her life drains away, and she can't even find the strength to tell him that she loves him back. Other times the bullet hits him instead when he jumps to save her, and she can hear Alexis screaming high above the crowd when she looks down at his face, brave and giving and going._

_This time it's different; this isn't a moment or flicker; this is real._

_Everything is white in the hospital. The walls and the shiny linoleum slabs and the faces of the dying are all an unhealthy shade of faded grey._

_Even the hopeful sunlight that seeps through the thick glass windows is lifeless and pale and Kate feels her hope draining away with it._

_Her bed sheets are stiff and smell of bleach, her nightdress isn't her own. Even her body is reliant on the thick fluid seeping through her veins from a heavily beeping machine._

_Nurses with simple names she can't remember offer weightless smiles when they bring her meals and day by day she feels herself pale with her surroundings._

_It's been months and no one has visited. She's losing herself; everything she built up from the wreckage of her past is crumbling. If she sees him she'll break, she knows that now; she'll fall into his arms like the dying girl she sees in the smear-marked bathroom mirror._

_She's damaged, damaged and dangerous and he deserves more. And she's not strong; she's made of scarred flesh and the swirling blood she can feel in between her ears, it flushes her cheeks whenever she thinks of him and makes her heart beat a little faster. At least she's feeling again, she thinks; there was a moment where she felt nearly nothing at all._

_***_

_A smash like shattering glass sounds and scarlet blood pools, stark liquid against solid white tiles and she watches him fall, and in his open eyes she reads his last words: his last and only honest promise: I would rather die than stay with you._

_Earth shattering sobs wrack her fragile frame; the world is glossy and shaking too, distorted like it's viewed from underwater._

_"Kate... Kate. Kate?"_

_"Castle." She hears herself say._

_"Kate... Oh Kate, sweetheart... God, are you okay?"_

_"Caste..?" The tremors of her sobs are almost violent now._

_"Yes, yes, I'm here, its okay Kate..." The room around her distorts violently; the white walls shattering inwards and she screams; squeezing her eyes shut against the slashes of colour._

***

Kate opens her eyes slowly; stark blue eyes stare back at hers unblinkingly. Castle's broad frame leans protectively over hers and she breathes out his name.

"Hey..." He chokes out, one large hand hesitates before brushing a lose tendril of hair from her sweaty forehead. Heat cradles her cheeks when he touches her, and she avoids his eyes for a moment.

"You-you're okay?" Her eyes skate back over his face, his gentle features wrinkled in concern when she nods back slowly. She chocks back a thick sob before asking, "What happened?" Although she feels like she has a pretty good idea.

_One day when the white light was at its brightest Castle visited._

"You were drinking, Kate. I think you passed out..." He continues when she says nothing. "Can I see your arm?"

She mumbles back a sound of confusion and raises her arm willingly when he notions for her to do so, realises dully that she must've cut herself on one of the bottles. Then he's looking her over with such concern her aching heart is enough to forget everything else that hurts.

"You called me sweetheart..." She hears herself say, blushes because, _really_ Kate?

He chuckles and hums, mumbling something about the dangers of alcohol consumption that makes her rolls her eyes, voice lifting when she says, "coming from you?" He lets out another throaty laugh in response, and turns his eyes back to her arm.

_"Hey." Rick opens the glass door and looks over her with a strained smile, tiptoeing closer; as if in her fragile state the tremor of his footsteps might shatter her. She wishes he'd crack some kind of joke or smile his self-gratified smirk. But he doesn't. His laughing eyes are screaming now, shoulders crooked with tiredness and weighted with defeat._

"You won't need stitches." He confirms after a minute of careful inspection.

Kate nods back her thanks.

_He stands a metre away from her and continues, "What I said before... I think I made a mistake."_

_"A mistake?" She manages. The pain is returning, a fire making its way up her arm. But she wasn't shot in her arm she thinks, an afterthought._

He looks at her for a moment, carefully, almost. "I'm staying here tonight." He says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. And when Kate opens her mouth to argue he continues, "You need someone to look after you. I'll clean up so that you don't cut yourself on these bottles again..." He rambles nervously, waiting for her to stop him, but she's silent. And he feels a burning swirl of anger at whoever did this to her. Kate Beckett, strong and vulnerable and conjuring blinks back with glassy eyes the same off-green as the bottles scattered around them.

For a moment Castle is caught up by the way she catches her soft lower lip between her teeth; sees it pale under pressure, and _stop looking at her mouth_, because then her eyebrows are knitting together in that oh so familiar way, but there's no sly remark; no quip of his last name to paint the distance between them... and he realises just how serious this is.

He takes a deep breath before continuing, "This needs serialising so that it doesn't get infected... And not that you haven't got enough alcohol here to sterilise the whole of New York..." Kate manages a small smile at that. "But I'd rather I was here to help."

"You don't have to..." She trails off when she realises that he's already risen from his crouched position and has started to pick at the empty bottles.

"_I don't love you."_

Her vision blurs behind a veil of tears, and she just can't let him see her like this; can't let him leave, and there's no way anyone in their right mind would stay. She knows there's only one way to make him go.

"Castle I want you to leave." She says firmly.

"Beckett I just want to help..." And there it is again, 'Beckett', thick and familiar like space she needs to breathe. His eyes are gentle and apologetic, and she's remained of a doctor consoling a sick patient. She feels the white walls wavering and she remembers how she hated their restrictions in the dream; remembers how that ended. It makes it easier.

"I don't need your help." She stumbles on her feet until she's towering over him. Looks up several inches to meet his eyes and wavers on bare feet. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don't need you here, Rick." That seems to have struck a nerve, because he physically stiffens, the gentle swoop of his shoulders straightening. The creases around the tight line of his mouth heavily strung like harp strings.

"I'm not leaving." And with that he continues to throw the last of the empty bottles into the bin bag.

Kate stumbles to follow him and pulls one arm so that he has to face her. His eyes are dripping with concern when they pierce hers. Kate rips the bag from his clenched fist and throws it meekly, less than a metre from where they stand.

"I said get _out_." Her voice is wavering and croaky and she hopes he doesn't notice, tries to stare back at him with equal conviction, but her eyelids are drooping with exhaustion. She watches his throat bob heavily when he says simply, "no."

_He took her in like a dimly lit flame- dangerous, but weak and pitiful. She tried to sit up straighter, blink away the threat of tears but her arms were too heavy on the crisp white sheets and her head throbbed. The tears were weightless when they came, almost a relief to hot cheeks._

She loves him, she realises it when she takes in his vacant expression, his eyes so vivid in the white room and hopeful until they reach her.

And then she's on him, hitting and scratching for all she's worth, all the while he stands unwavering. Maybe he'd leave if she explained, pleaded with him to let her soak in her misery and fear alone, with some of the dignity that's quickly slipping through her fingers. But she's silent.

_The thin line of Castle's mouth seemed to tear in two when he replied, "I'm sorry, Kate but... I can't even look at you right now..." He shook his head in pity and disgust. And she'd never seen him look at her like that; there were times that she wished he would just stop looking, back when his heavy stare made her warm and shaky._

He waits until she stills, broken sobs unravelling into the soft material of his cornflower blue shirt. She knows she can't fight him anymore, has no choice but to let him stay; let him leave. Her walls crumbled with each shot of the burning liquid she can barely remember and now she has nothing left to hide behind, and she's so terrified he'll see who she really is.

_He didn't stumble; didn't even move. Stayed looking at her the way she wished he would stop; as if he'd given up fighting._

And then he does something she hadn't expected: he relaxes completely, his thick arms winding firmly around her taut body, holding her together. She freezes in his hold, can feel his hesitance in the shaky breaths he releases on her neck. And just when she feels him start to move away she allows her heavy arms to mirror his, clinging to him more desperately than she would have liked. And slowly the edges of her thin frame surrender to hollows of his. And she'd be amazed by how perfectly they fit if she'd ever had any doubt.

Her head feels heavy, and she allows one tear-stained cheek to nuzzle in the warm place between his shoulder and neck. Still shaking with slowing tremors she inhales the familiar comfort of his musky smell, the mixture of old books and cinnamon that haunts her dreams. Somewhere in between crying and stopping she realise that for the first time in years she feels safe. His chest expands with a sigh of relief beneath her, and the tickle of his breath muses the mess of her hair. And she thinks that maybe she isn't weak to give in.

"Let me help?" He mumbles somewhat hesitantly into the silence.

_She was shaking; shaking hands found a shaking gun and raised it to point and she whispered "Please don't leave me..." She didn't bother to wonder where the gun came from, too many voices were screaming to question._

"Okay."

**The second chapter is up if you're still with me, I personally prefer the next chapter and was going to put it up in one, but thought you might not make it through in one go.**

**I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed my last fic, I'm pretty sure that was the most reviews I've ever had for one chapter and you were all so kind and amazing, this is for you!**


	2. Chapter 2

He tries to breathe through it. It's been exactly twenty minutes since he let go of her, he knows because the wall clock blears the time like a laughing reminder that each passing minute means forgetting the way her soft hair tickled his nose and the warmth of her lithe form against his.

Now he walks around her apartment confidently having memorised the position and contents of every cupboard the few times he visited. Moments ago he'd found bandages and cleaning cream and tended to her arm with rushed apologies.

He brings her a glass of water now and smiles when she starts taking grateful gulps. He can feel his own gaze weighing her down, tries for a breezy smile but fails.

"Castle I can actually hear you worrying and it's giving me a headache." She looks over the rim of her glass with a playful smile, and his heart lifts just a little.

"Oh, it's my fault, is it? Not the dozen bottles of hard liquor you practically drowned in just now?"

"Oh no I'm pretty sure it's you." She grins, leaning forward with a predatory glint in her eye, and she almost drops her glass and he's pretty sure she's still dangerously drunk. That he should run.

But instead he asks, "And how might we go about fixing that dilemma?"

She lolls back against the sofa casually, chews her lip in consideration for a moment before replying, "We could distract ourselves."

He raises an eyebrow in response, and he has to stop himself for saying something inappropriate because this isn't the time. "Care to elaborate?"

"We could play a game... Like 50 questions? And we have to answer completely honestly." And for a moment she looks so shy. Her downcast eyes snap up when he replies, "You go first."

Two hours later and they've been through five cups of coffee and way more than 50 questions.

"You were seriously in a band though? And you failed to tell me? Beckett I thought our friendship meant more to you!" His eyes are sparkling with new information and the smile that stretches over his face is so large it's almost comical and she can't help but laugh in response.

"I crowd surfed too, caused a couple mosh pits..."

"Oh my God you actually got hotter."

She throws a pillow at his exaggerated open-mouthed expression and then he's grinning and she's giggling, actually giggling and he could burst with pride. She's gasping for air and swatting him playfully with the pillow while he shields himself with raised arms and chokes out "Beckett my face is my fortune!"

Laughing he catches her arms, and for a moment they're suspended in time, her wide eyes locked onto he forgets to breathe, but then he's rolling her under him and how did they end up on the floor?

Her arms are trapped under his and his face pressed into her neck. He's breathing in cherries and warmth like oxygen and she's so glad he's not looking at her right now because she can actually feel the blood rush to her cheeks when his warm breath hits her skin.

They're still laughing when he helps her up, tugging her to her feet like she's weightless.

When they've finally caught their breath, and are seated back on the sofa Kate picks up her mug of coffee, blows on the steamy liquid and asks, "What about you writer boy? What's your final secret?" She drags one thick curl behind her ear, her lips tilting slightly when she grins that recently-familiar toothy smile. And she looks so breathtakingly beautiful in that moment that he just stares, watches as she takes a small sip from her mug and leans back comfortably against the sofa.

"I like poetry." Castle chokes out.

She actually splutters on her coffee at that, "_what_?"

"I like poetry." He says again, his hesitant smile contradicting his actions when he leans back casually. He picks up one of the over sized cookies she'd brought out with their second pot of coffee and waits.

"Poetry." She repeats, raising one perfectly sculptured eyebrow doubtfully. His eyes are downturned. He studies a thick chunk of chocolate before taking another bite. Kate sighs impatiently and toes his swinging foot to a halt. He swallows deeply. Catches her gaze and holds, the complicated pattern of golden and green swirls in her eyes and he relents.

"I always have. I don't know why I just... I've always had a weakness for poetry." Her heart clenches in her chest and she waits for him to continue.

He pauses, thoughtful. "These cookies are amazing."

"I'm glad you're enjoying them." Kate smirks, eyeing the empty plate out of the corner of her eye. "Go on?"

He laughs, takes another bite of the sweet cookie and forces the words out through a mouthful, so she has to strain to listen, "I mean it's hard to sell books with a play-boy image and three hundred pages of poetry about finding 'the one'... You know, rather than five models in one week like the press seem to believe... Which, but the way, I'm flattered by, I mean I'm pushing middle-age and wow that's a_ lot_ of-"

"Castle."

"Right, right... I just think there's something raw about poetry; something so real. I feel kind of like writing mystery novels was my way of being separate from all of that... I over simplify things in my books; make life and death easy to understand... Justice is given like a rite and characters fall in love like they have no fear..." He swallows, rips his eyes from the storm raging in hers. "... But I got so lost in the story that I forgot why I started writing to begin with- lost the passion that drove me. I forgot that there's not always a clear reason for murder; that justice is difficult to reach sometimes and that real love is terrifying simply because it matters. You remained me, Kate. It's like how they say 'all the songs make sense', well the poems do too, and I think I'd forgotten that they ever had."

Kate sits still for the entirety of his speech, watching him intently, and in the darkness the light seems to shine on something that's always been there.

He smiles hesitantly after a moment of stretched silence. And _God_ he's so open and waiting and she needs to say something, anything-

"Castle I-"

"You don't have to say anything." His voice is husky with emotion. And she merely nods for fear of sounding equally affected. She knows this isn't the time... she just needs time. But God, she's starting to ask herself why.

He looks so tired and ruffled in that moment, collecting their plates and cups, that she imagines him sprawled out across her bed, and even though the thought is almost completely domestic, and she hasn't even considered the circumstances that lead to him lying there, she feels a heavy blush stain her cheeks at the thought.

He shifts awkwardly under her gaze and swirls what's left of the gritty liquid around his mug.

"It's really late... You should sleep." He catches her expression and rushes to continue, "I'm not leaving, though... you know you can't get rid of me that easily." He jokes before adding hastily, "I'll sleep on the sofa."

***

Kate goes to her room to get changed, chooses a pair of white cotton shorts and a baggy blue top. An old favourite that used to advertise the name of a band or a place that faded in her memory, like its name on her shirt.

She can hear him shuffling on the sofa, probably wrapping himself in the half-dozen blankets she offered him to keep warm.

She can't sleep, she hasn't been able to since the shooting, but she doesn't even try this time, lies there for only a few minutes before she bounces up and opens the door to the living room with a swift pull.

***

Rick is sat comfortably on her sofa when she walks in, dressed in a black undershirt and an old pair of trousers she bought several sizes too big and holding a glass of water.

"Everything okay?" He rushes to ask, concern flooding his features as he shuffles to make space for her next to him. She sits silently.

"Yeah fine. Couldn't sleep... I wanted to talk to you..."

She shifts her weight until their knees are touching and leans slowly closer. Picks the glass from his hands with a sure grip. He's looking at her with a question in his eyes when she takes a deep breath.

"I... I didn't think I was ready, but, I don't feel like I have a choice anymore... Or like I ever had choice with you..." The words are falling away before Kate's said them. The alcohol makes her brave, and she's glad that she feels mostly out of her body; that her lips seem to be moving without permission, almost sure they wouldn't be moving otherwise. Castle's eyes pierce hers, ground her, like they always do, forcing her on.

"I remember the shooting, I remember... everything." She doesn't stop when she hears his sharp intake of breath, scared she won't be able to carry on if she does. "And I'm sorry but I just..." She breaths deeply and her brow furrows with concentration. His steady gaze holds hers, weighted and waiting.

"I don't know how to do this- _if_ I can do this..." He's staring at his feet like they have the answer, like running is the answer. But he's perfectly still.

"You don't have to. I get it, Beckett... I'm a friend to you and that's okay... I just want to be part of your life... In any way you'll let me." He soothes, one heavy writer's hand coming to rest warmly on her knee and squeezing affectionately.

She shakes her head so hard he thinks it might fall off. "It's Kate, just call me _Kate_-"

He nods numbly, "I'm here for you no matter what you know that. We're partners, Kate." He decides he likes the way her first name rolls off his tongue, likes how it feels heavy and soft tumbling over his lips, likes the flicker of emotion it releases in her eyes.

Kate's mind is working at double speed, her eyes flickering over the nothing displaced on his face. "_Seriously_ Castle? You spend your whole life jumping to conclusions and now you can't even take a step?"

"Wha-"

"For God's sake I'm trying to tell you that I love you!" The words are out before Kate can stop them and wide-eyed she clamps a hand over her mouth in shock.

"You love me?" He asks in a tone void of emotion. Kate nods, unstable to say anything more, not trusting herself enough to peel the hand away just yet.

"We've got time, Kate... We don't have to rush into anything." When she meets his eyes again they're a glistening with unspoken hope. A broad grin threatens to stretch its way across his face, and the comforting hand shakes with emotion, and she just knows.

Kate shakes her head slowly, moves her hand away smiles, "I'm ready."

For a moment she thinks he didn't hear her, but then his strong hands are tilting her chin up, "you're sure?"

She breathes out "yes." Eyes slipping closed without her permission when his dart to her quickly parting lips.

He seals the promise with a whisper of a kiss, his lips barely grazing hers. It's soft and sweet and full of waiting, like the tender press of hope that's not quite enough. Because too soon he's pulling away, and she can't help but chase his lips with her own. She hears his deep rumble of amusement flicker through the silence, and she mumbles something that sounds like a threat because he needs to stop stopping. But then he's resting his forehead against hers and smiling softly when her eyes blink open and she can barely breathe because he's really not going anywhere, and she thinks she can wait.

It's so different to the first and last time they kissed; because this time isn't about sharing secrets between gasps and searching touches. This isn't desperate and longing; but final. Found rather than finding.

This kiss says they've got all the time in the world.

The next day she wakes up a mess; limbs tired and aching. And she remembers his words from the night before, the lyrical repetition of complements whispered into her hair as she fell asleep, both too far gone to care that they weren't supposed to talk like this just yet.

Kate's about to get up, get dressed, feels drowsy and warm and far too comfortable, but then she remembers his voice gravely with tiredness mumbling "you're so beautiful" as his hands ran over her arms, she tugs the warm sheets over them and sinks further into his soft embrace, believing him.

Yesterday's events are blurred but she remembers enough to pull his arm tighter around her. Remembers how he helped her into bed for the second time before leaving in the dark to sleep on her sofa, thinking she wanted time or distance or something when all she ever wanted was him; remembers how she left moments later to curl up next to him, both of them knowing he wasn't really asleep, but neither sure if she wanted him to see her next to him. But now she knows.

She rolls over to face him and his warm eyes blink open, "Hey." His voice is soft and gravely like the shadow of morning stubble she wants to touch.

He tugs her closer instinctively. She smiles back; his features open and soft when he grins at her, just knowing.

She's drifting off to sleep again when she thinks she hears him say he loves her. She thinks she says it back. She doesn't care. She knows. She knows because she woke up with a throbbing headache and his arms still wrapped around her body. And when she looks down at her bandaged arm, and she can vaguely remember him carefully winding the soft material until it ran out; the flushing of her skin when his thumb brushed over her knuckles. She remembers his secrets and hers; remembers every time he offered her a theory or a coffee or whatever she'd take, until last night she gave him everything in return.

And she remembers that he stayed.

**Thanks for reading! If there's ever something you want me to write I'm more than happy to fill prompts, either let me know in a review, PM, or message me on tumblr- the link is on my profile.**


End file.
